Story of a Lonely Guy
by diamondpearl876
Summary: The result of a single card with a single drop of blood on it: a story of a lonely guy. .apollo-centric.


It's been a while since I've written anything. Any and all reviews would be appreciated.

This is the first time I've used second person alone. And this is also my first fanfic for the Ace Attorney series.

I do not own any of the characters.

Story of a Lonely Guy

Everything was going perfectly for you… until _he_ was officially accused of being the murderer.

You were doing exactly what you were supposed to at your first trial, and there is no doubt that you performed well for a rookie. You interacted with your client, went into the courtroom. (You were rather nervous, but your head was still held high.) When needed, you presented evidence to every soul in the court, evidence to prove the defendant was innocent. Praise was sent in your direction numerous times, and you felt as if all the years of hard work had finally paid off. In the end, of course, you heard the verdict.

Your client was in the clear. You don't deny that; it was a fact that you knew the second his name was heard. But there was no room in your heart to celebrate. It was overcome with sorrow and confusion, drowning any chance of you making even the faintest of smiles over the fact that you had won your first case--to a prosecutor who had been at his job for _years_. The one thing that tore at you the most was that the person who was guilty was your very own mentor, Kristoph Gavin.

It was unbelievable to you at first. (After all, you had stood with the man at countless amounts of trials, observing his every move and scrutinizing every sentence spoken, admiring his skills as a defense attorney.) To know you were nothing but the student of a murderer terrified you, and you deeply wanted to forget about the situation and go back to the times where everything with Mr. Gavin actually made sense. The man on the witness's stand wasn't the same man who had willingly taken you into his office when no one else would. Mr. Gavin never would have said things regarding revenge, and accusations of murder being some kind of joke to anyone. It couldn't have been him. (Then again, that's what everyone says about the ones they care about.)

On top of all that, you were tricked by one of the most respected defense attorneys around, Phoenix Wright. (He wasn't a defense attorney anymore, but you had heard about him from other lawyers before he was your client.) And you let it happen. At the beginning of the trial, the judge had asked Mr. Gavin why he wasn't leading this murder case, and he responded by saying that Mr. Wright had specifically requested _you._ He asked for Apollo Justice. Not Kristoph Gavin. You considered it a great honor after what you had heard about him, but that quickly faded along with your trust for your cruel teacher. Mr. Wright's daughter had given you forged evidence to prove who the real murderer was--the same situation had caused him to lose his defense attorney's badge seven years prior to your first trial. (You punched Mr. Wright the moment you found out, and to this day you still don't regret it; you even wished you had gotten the chance to clobber Mr. Gavin as well.)

You weren't sure what would become of you after that. (At first, your only thoughts consisted of how funny it was that a single card with a single drop of blood on it could officially make your first trial one of the worst days ever.) The forged evidence should have gotten your own badge taken away; the only reason you still had it in your possession was because the card wasn't proven to be fake. You were on your own; Gavin Law Offices were closed due to Mr. Gavin being put in Central Prison to pay for his crimes. And you had never had friends or family to go to--it was the price you paid for being an orphan all your life.

For two months, loneliness and denial intertwined to take you down the path of nothingness. You never ended up going back to the office to claim your belongings; in fact, you hardly left your house at all. Moping around and watching television shows you hated were your daily activities; you avoided anything that might remind you of that day, the day where you lost everything. (In all of your unwanted sessions of wallowing in your own self-pity, you came to the conclusion that when you don't have much to begin with, it doesn't take much for it all to come crashing down.)

As much as you wished it weren't true, you knew you couldn't go on like this forever. You knew you wouldn't be able to pay for rent or buy food if you had no money. You suddenly remembered that Mr. Wright and his daughter had invited you to come to their offices to work. In your mind, it was just another trick, and you were about to walk right into it. Unfortunately, you had nowhere else to go. You couldn't let everything you learned from law school go to waste. (Forget Mr. Gavin; even if you had wasted the last two months of your life, you knew you were better than him now.) Before you left your apartment for the first time in what seemed like forever, you vowed that you would never allow yourself to become close to anyone ever again.

Now, you stand right where you started: in front of an office door, nervous about the outcome of the events that have yet to come. The only difference this time is that no positive outcomes can be seen in your eyes. They seem to be permanently erased from your mind, with no intent on returning. (You hate those thoughts you can't deny--like violence, they're always there, whether you like it or not.) Your sweaty hand is placed upon the handle, but you are hesitant to walk in. You notice that you are wearing the same suit that you had worn at that dreadful first trial, and you make a mental note to get rid of the wretched thing as soon as possible and go out to buy a different one. You also glance at the bracelet that is placed on your left wrist; it is the only thing you possess that shows someone had cared at one point in your life. (You figure that if you're not doing this for yourself, then you're doing it for the person who gave it to you--your mother.)

With a heavy sigh, you mumble a half-hearted, "Here comes Justice," and you open the door to do the thing you do best: keep going, even if it looks like there's no hope.


End file.
